“What’s wrong with you?”
“I have a headache. Actually it might be meningitis.”
“Meningitis? Why would it be meningitis?”
“Because my neck is stiff.”
“Oh, well then I’ve had meningitis for years.”
“Well why the hell did you give it to me?”
“Because I can.”
*******************************************
(This is based on a sign giving silver alerts (like amber alerts but for elderly people) that we both see on the way home from work. It generally says something cryptic like “MISSING ELDERY BLUE BUICK TEMPLE, TX.”)
“Good god, another elderly Buick is missing.”
“There have been a lot of those in the past 6 months.”
“You’d think there’d be a better way to find a stolen car.”
“I know, and apparently they’re not classic cars, they’re elderly.”
Showing posts with label Clinton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clinton. Show all posts
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
LBSCBDO
Clinton felt the need to correct me on today’s post. (and after this one, he may never do it again.) He claims that I not only require waking up on my own, but I require food before I can be a morning person. The short version – he’s wrong.
The long version – his reasoning is that on weekends I lose my temper with him in the mornings prior to eating. What he leaves out is that when we get up on a weekend and I say I’m hungry, he moseys out of bed, takes a leisurely shower, hangs around the bedroom with out a shirt on, falls under the spell of the TV a few times, and even possibly starts doing something entirely different from getting ready, like sorting laundry because he has some NEED to be the very last person to be ready to go anywhere (unless it’s for him, which is another post for another time.)
So at this point, I’m tapping my foot and huffing and puffing and shaking keys and yelling, because when I said I was hungry I had envisioned him jumping out of bed, getting dressed fireman style and walking out to the car, right then, not taking a shower and lounging around for 45 minutes watching TV. And yes, I get mad because when I said I was hungry, I did not mean – I will be hungry in 45 minutes. I meant I’m hungry now! And if I make my own breakfast and not bother him with it? I’m mean because he wanted to have that too, and why didn’t I wait for him. I can’t win for losing.
That does not disqualify me from being a morning person. It has nothing to do with the time of day – it has everything to do with telling someone an immediate need of yours and then having them completely ignore it for 45 minutes. I think it should qualify me for a tax deduction.
The fact that I get so frustrated and angry, I attribute to LBSCBDO (Low Blood Sugar Cranky Butt DisOrder). As stolen from The Pioneer Woman.
He has it too, only his generally manifests itself at 2 or 3 pm after he “forgets” to eat lunch.
Landon will probably be inflicted as well. I’m almost positive it’s genetic.
The long version – his reasoning is that on weekends I lose my temper with him in the mornings prior to eating. What he leaves out is that when we get up on a weekend and I say I’m hungry, he moseys out of bed, takes a leisurely shower, hangs around the bedroom with out a shirt on, falls under the spell of the TV a few times, and even possibly starts doing something entirely different from getting ready, like sorting laundry because he has some NEED to be the very last person to be ready to go anywhere (unless it’s for him, which is another post for another time.)
So at this point, I’m tapping my foot and huffing and puffing and shaking keys and yelling, because when I said I was hungry I had envisioned him jumping out of bed, getting dressed fireman style and walking out to the car, right then, not taking a shower and lounging around for 45 minutes watching TV. And yes, I get mad because when I said I was hungry, I did not mean – I will be hungry in 45 minutes. I meant I’m hungry now! And if I make my own breakfast and not bother him with it? I’m mean because he wanted to have that too, and why didn’t I wait for him. I can’t win for losing.
That does not disqualify me from being a morning person. It has nothing to do with the time of day – it has everything to do with telling someone an immediate need of yours and then having them completely ignore it for 45 minutes. I think it should qualify me for a tax deduction.
The fact that I get so frustrated and angry, I attribute to LBSCBDO (Low Blood Sugar Cranky Butt DisOrder). As stolen from The Pioneer Woman.
He has it too, only his generally manifests itself at 2 or 3 pm after he “forgets” to eat lunch.
Landon will probably be inflicted as well. I’m almost positive it’s genetic.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Red Tip Root Conversations
“Here, pull on this and hold it like this, and I’m going to swing my axe right here and cut this.”
“Oh my god, I’m going to lose my hands today………Hey, don’t forget to get Landon out of the playpen when you take me to the hospital.”
“I won’t.”
“Oh my god, I’m going to lose my hands today………Hey, don’t forget to get Landon out of the playpen when you take me to the hospital.”
“I won’t.”
Friday, December 29, 2006
Poop Stories
Clinton had the day off today, and I had to work. This morning I was running late and even though we have Ashley coming to baby-sit Landon, we told her she could come a little later, since Clinton would be there. Clinton’s still a little afraid to be left alone with Landon for an extended period – and I honestly don’t want to push him to do something he’s not comfortable doing – for his sake and for Landon’s sake.
For those not familiar with a baby’s intestinal working – it’s like a conveyor belt. A reflex in the sucking makes them poop. Milk in, poop out – almost at the same time, or immediately following a feeding anyway.
So I’m late and he’s asleep right up until I should be leaving – and then he wakes up crying. Since I’m going to get to work and immediately pump anyway – I figure I might as well just feed him. So I fed him, and handed him off for burping and ran out the door. I thought he might poop after I left, but I didn’t think it would be a big one, and I thought if nothing else, he’d survive the 30 or so minutes until Ashley got there to change him.
But the little gremlin pooped up his back and all over Daddy, and caused him to have to change a dirty diaper. I didn’t plan it, but if I had, it wouldn’t have worked so well. Anyway, it turns out that he CAN change a dirty diaper! Clinton called me for sympathy. He said he asked Landon if he and I had conspired against him in planning this – and Landon giggled at him. I probably didn’t give him much of the sympathy he was after – I certainly don’t get sympathy when I change a dirty diaper. But I am proud of him for not sticking him in the bathtub and waiting for Ashley.
SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE
Yes Clint lives with us.
Clint said yesterday that people ask him after I post something about where he was in the story. “Don’t you live with them?” they ask. And I have to say that all the “we” and ‘”us” references kind of sound like I mean Landon and me, but I really mostly mean Clinton, Landon, and me. He’s in there. He may be in the background, but he’s in there.
Right now, I hold a disproportionate amount of duties when it comes to Landon. I am his food, I change his diapers, I get up during the night with him, I take him to his appointments, I was the day care dropper offer/ picker upper and I’m the author of the blog – therefore I will be in more stories than Clinton will be.
That being said, when Clinton starts his blog about taking care of the house – I will be pretty absent from that – as he’s the dishwasher, the vaccuumer, the tidier, the duster, the pool boy, the sprinkler guardian, the lights in the landscaping are burnt out noticer/replacer, the decorator, the trash taker outer, and for the most part, the laundry guy – I’m the one running around making messes for him to clean up. I think I have the better end on this deal.
Gratuitous Christmas Picture:
For those not familiar with a baby’s intestinal working – it’s like a conveyor belt. A reflex in the sucking makes them poop. Milk in, poop out – almost at the same time, or immediately following a feeding anyway.
So I’m late and he’s asleep right up until I should be leaving – and then he wakes up crying. Since I’m going to get to work and immediately pump anyway – I figure I might as well just feed him. So I fed him, and handed him off for burping and ran out the door. I thought he might poop after I left, but I didn’t think it would be a big one, and I thought if nothing else, he’d survive the 30 or so minutes until Ashley got there to change him.
But the little gremlin pooped up his back and all over Daddy, and caused him to have to change a dirty diaper. I didn’t plan it, but if I had, it wouldn’t have worked so well. Anyway, it turns out that he CAN change a dirty diaper! Clinton called me for sympathy. He said he asked Landon if he and I had conspired against him in planning this – and Landon giggled at him. I probably didn’t give him much of the sympathy he was after – I certainly don’t get sympathy when I change a dirty diaper. But I am proud of him for not sticking him in the bathtub and waiting for Ashley.
SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE SIDE NOTE
Yes Clint lives with us.
Clint said yesterday that people ask him after I post something about where he was in the story. “Don’t you live with them?” they ask. And I have to say that all the “we” and ‘”us” references kind of sound like I mean Landon and me, but I really mostly mean Clinton, Landon, and me. He’s in there. He may be in the background, but he’s in there.
Right now, I hold a disproportionate amount of duties when it comes to Landon. I am his food, I change his diapers, I get up during the night with him, I take him to his appointments, I was the day care dropper offer/ picker upper and I’m the author of the blog – therefore I will be in more stories than Clinton will be.
That being said, when Clinton starts his blog about taking care of the house – I will be pretty absent from that – as he’s the dishwasher, the vaccuumer, the tidier, the duster, the pool boy, the sprinkler guardian, the lights in the landscaping are burnt out noticer/replacer, the decorator, the trash taker outer, and for the most part, the laundry guy – I’m the one running around making messes for him to clean up. I think I have the better end on this deal.
Gratuitous Christmas Picture:
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Farewell Cletus
I will post some pictures tomorrow maybe...blogger's picture uploading thing isn't working. In the mean time, I did upload them to Flickr, so beware - they're not pretty.
This time, knowing what we knew from last time, we were on the look-out for a changed appointment time. Clinton’s scheduled appointment for Friday was at 1:30. We got a call on Wednesday – could we come at 2:30? Sure. We got another call at 5:02 on Thursday (on Clint’s work phone), could we come at 1:00? So, apparently when you schedule an appointment with this doctor, you’re really only picking a day, not a time.
We got there at 12:55, there was another person in the waiting room with her mom and then a flood of like 4 more patients came in. They scheduled everyone for 1:00. Doesn’t seem very efficient, but ok. So the girl and her mom get called back, and then Clinton gets called back.
They laid him out in the room and had him take his shirt off. The nurse wiped his back with antiseptic and then took a bar towel-like thing and cut a hole in it to lay over the cyst. She actually cut 2 holes instead of 1 and instead of trying again, wadded it up on the counter and left the room.
Clint fell asleep on the table a few times. We heard out in the hallway, the doctor telling someone to go to the hospital immediately. “Just go straight to the hospital.” “No, you need to go straight there.” That’s a little disconcerting.
The doctor came in at about 1:30 and asked if we had any questions. He knows how to fold a bar towel and successfully cut only 1 hole in the one he was working on. He told Clint he would feel a stick and some burning. He injected some lidocaine in various spots around the cyst. He admired that Clint didn’t even flinch for the stick. He waited a couple minutes for the lidocaine to take effect. The area got all weird and puffy – like cauliflower - and he started cutting. He said “Wow, that’s bigger than I thought it was.” And after hearing about someone else having gone in to have a cyst removed and it was the size of 2 golf balls, that was a little scary. But within about 30 seconds (and one trip to the other side of the table to cut a little further) the cyst was out. It looked like a gumball or a more round peanut M&M - after you suck all the color and flavor off of it and it’s white…about a ½ inch diameter. Kind of shiny.
Clint asked what caused it, and the Doctor tried to blame me “Too much fat in your diet, your wife is feeding you too well.” “Hey, he had that when I got him, so that’s his Mom!” “No, I’m kidding, they don’t really know what causes them, but it’s good to have it removed, because they get bigger and bigger and can get infected.”
The doctor stitched him up. He has 4 or 5 stitches total, one painful stitch off the end of the cut and we were out of there by 1:45. He goes back next week to have the stitches removed.
His incision is still hurting him today, but it looks better and better.
Hasta la vista, Cletus!
Before
After
This time, knowing what we knew from last time, we were on the look-out for a changed appointment time. Clinton’s scheduled appointment for Friday was at 1:30. We got a call on Wednesday – could we come at 2:30? Sure. We got another call at 5:02 on Thursday (on Clint’s work phone), could we come at 1:00? So, apparently when you schedule an appointment with this doctor, you’re really only picking a day, not a time.
We got there at 12:55, there was another person in the waiting room with her mom and then a flood of like 4 more patients came in. They scheduled everyone for 1:00. Doesn’t seem very efficient, but ok. So the girl and her mom get called back, and then Clinton gets called back.
They laid him out in the room and had him take his shirt off. The nurse wiped his back with antiseptic and then took a bar towel-like thing and cut a hole in it to lay over the cyst. She actually cut 2 holes instead of 1 and instead of trying again, wadded it up on the counter and left the room.
Clint fell asleep on the table a few times. We heard out in the hallway, the doctor telling someone to go to the hospital immediately. “Just go straight to the hospital.” “No, you need to go straight there.” That’s a little disconcerting.
The doctor came in at about 1:30 and asked if we had any questions. He knows how to fold a bar towel and successfully cut only 1 hole in the one he was working on. He told Clint he would feel a stick and some burning. He injected some lidocaine in various spots around the cyst. He admired that Clint didn’t even flinch for the stick. He waited a couple minutes for the lidocaine to take effect. The area got all weird and puffy – like cauliflower - and he started cutting. He said “Wow, that’s bigger than I thought it was.” And after hearing about someone else having gone in to have a cyst removed and it was the size of 2 golf balls, that was a little scary. But within about 30 seconds (and one trip to the other side of the table to cut a little further) the cyst was out. It looked like a gumball or a more round peanut M&M - after you suck all the color and flavor off of it and it’s white…about a ½ inch diameter. Kind of shiny.
Clint asked what caused it, and the Doctor tried to blame me “Too much fat in your diet, your wife is feeding you too well.” “Hey, he had that when I got him, so that’s his Mom!” “No, I’m kidding, they don’t really know what causes them, but it’s good to have it removed, because they get bigger and bigger and can get infected.”
The doctor stitched him up. He has 4 or 5 stitches total, one painful stitch off the end of the cut and we were out of there by 1:45. He goes back next week to have the stitches removed.
His incision is still hurting him today, but it looks better and better.
Hasta la vista, Cletus!
Before
After
Monday, July 10, 2006
Nothing Happens For a Reason
On Friday we went to have Cletus removed. I didn’t really mean to name it Cletus. It was merely a suggestion of the type of name I was looking for. I figured he’d been hanging out for 12 years, so he kind of deserved a name. Clint has been referring to his cyst as Cletus ever since.
Cletus didn’t really bother anyone but Clint’s mother and me. At least he didn’t up until this past year and he started rubbing Clint the wrong way. I can’t really be sure whether he was getting bigger or not, although Clint claims he probably was – because now he got irritated by clothing – which he never did before. Anyway – suffice it to say – it’s a happy good-bye.
Or....it would have been. His appointment was for 1:45 and we got there early - cause I have pregnancy mush brain and lost the appointment card and couldn't remember if it was 1:15 or 1:45. Anyway, we walk in and the place is empty. Apparently, the doctor had decided to change all his appointments to the morning and the staff, rather than calling the home number, called Clint's work number. At 5:15pm, the day before the appointment...when he had left at 5:00, not to return. And then they called again at 11:02am, saying they wanted to make his appointment for 11:00...So Clint's mad. Cletus got a 6 week reprieve due to other issues with our next 2 off Fridays. And Cletus will now be departing on August 18th. I have the before pictures, but I'll save that for the before and after when I have an after.
Cletus didn’t really bother anyone but Clint’s mother and me. At least he didn’t up until this past year and he started rubbing Clint the wrong way. I can’t really be sure whether he was getting bigger or not, although Clint claims he probably was – because now he got irritated by clothing – which he never did before. Anyway – suffice it to say – it’s a happy good-bye.
Or....it would have been. His appointment was for 1:45 and we got there early - cause I have pregnancy mush brain and lost the appointment card and couldn't remember if it was 1:15 or 1:45. Anyway, we walk in and the place is empty. Apparently, the doctor had decided to change all his appointments to the morning and the staff, rather than calling the home number, called Clint's work number. At 5:15pm, the day before the appointment...when he had left at 5:00, not to return. And then they called again at 11:02am, saying they wanted to make his appointment for 11:00...So Clint's mad. Cletus got a 6 week reprieve due to other issues with our next 2 off Fridays. And Cletus will now be departing on August 18th. I have the before pictures, but I'll save that for the before and after when I have an after.
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